


Made for Each Other

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, New Relationship, Serial Killer Peter Hale, Serial Killer Stiles, death off stage, mentions of cannibalism, nothing too graphic I hope, that's a tag? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter drives highways looking for hitchhikers to pick up and kill. </p><p>Stiles likes to hitchhike and find drivers that he can kill. </p><p>Seems like they'd get along, if they don't kill each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

It doesn’t matter much to Peter if it’s a male or female. That’s not even in the top three concerns. Sure, there are benefits to each. Men are always so shocked that this could even happen to them and he loves watching when they realize that it’s true, they’re going to die. Women usually end up doing a lot of begging and crying, they seem to understand sooner. So both work.

Basically, Peter looks for someone who looks healthy, someone with vigor and stamina. He always appreciates someone interesting who will give him a challenge. There’s usually not a lot of time to make that determination, and often it’s just a gut instinct, coupled with what his werewolf senses can determine. If he guesses wrong, if there’s not that spark he needs, no big loss.  The person gets out of his car at or at least a little closer to their destination. Or maybe they stumble out of the bar and the only thing they’ve lost is a little bit of their dignity, thinking they might be going home with the attractive, slightly older man who bought several rounds of drinks.  They never know and Peter’s lost nothing.

Take now for example. He’s driving on one of the smaller northern California freeways, the kind with one lane in each direction, winding through vineyards and other orchards. It’s pretty. The windows are down, even though it’s a warm September afternoon, one of the last of Indian summer days.

Standing in front of him by the side of the road is a young man, backpack at his feet and thumb out.  He’s smiling encouragingly, probably trying not to look dangerous, the dear thing. His jeans look well-worn, his oversized T-shirt is sticking to his chest and his face is shiny with sweat, which he quickly wipes off his forehead with his arm.

Peter has half a minute to make his decision, but again, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Hey there,” he calls out of the passenger side window. As he runs up to the car, grinning broadly, Peter sees he’s much younger than he’d first thought, maybe early 20s at the oldest.  A boy, really.  “So where you headed?” Peter asks.

“South,” the boy says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Um, San Diego eventually, so however far you’re going is a help.”

The next few seconds are spent in the silent dance between driver and potential passenger.  Both trying to send the message _“I won’t hurt you, but I’m not helpless. You can trust me, but you can’t take advantage of me.”_  Peter’s good at sending this message; he’s just not very good at keeping it.

“Get in,” he says with a smile and unlocks the door.

His passenger shoves his backpack behind his legs as he gets into the front seat. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Stiles? Unusual name. I’m Peter, nice to meet you.” He pulls back onto the highway and quickly gets back up to the speed limit.

“Yeah, thanks again. There’s not a lot of traffic on this road, thought I might be there a while,” Stiles says, looking around the car.

“There’s a cooler behind you,” Peter says, smiling. “Help yourself to a bottle of water, you look like you need it.” Putting the person at ease is a good thing and hydration is important if you want them to last.

“Great, thanks again,” Stiles says, tugging on the shoulder harness to loosen it enough so he can turn into the back seat. “Do you want one?”

Peter shakes his head and takes the opportunity to check out his passenger. Yes, younger than he originally thought, bit grimy, but healthy. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

 

Stiles sits back down in the front seat and downs half the bottle without stopping, thinking about how lucky he is to have picked this guy. He’s attractive and seems nice and really ready for travel.  He’ll probably be a lot of fun to kill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’ve never had a partner before. I can’t imagine how that would work,” he says.

Peter’s a pretty good traveling companion. He lets Stiles find a radio station he likes and doesn’t get annoyed when he changes it every time a commercial comes on. He talks enough, but not too much and he doesn’t ask questions that are none of his business.

Stiles tells him this is his final summer before starting college and he’s just seeing a bit of California before settling down at San Diego State. It’s kind of close to the truth, and he’s found that staying as close to the truth as possible is a good idea. There’s less to remember and things just seem more plausible. And in fact, he did graduate from high school, although it was a couple of years ago. Since then, he’s found his true calling, and it’s one that doesn’t need a formal degree.

Of course Stiles recognizes that something’s off with friendly, easy-going Peter. He’s not entirely sure what it is, but there’s something there that’s wrong, just as certainly as he can see there’s something wrong in himself.

He’s sure that Peter will want sex; that seems to be an obvious assumption. He’s not looking for money from Stiles and when they pull off the highway to get gas, Stiles offers to pay and Peter turns him down, saying, “Don’t worry about it, I’d be driving this direction anyway and I’m glad for the company. Besides, you’re a college student, keep your money.”

When Stiles tries to pay for both their lunches at the burger place attached to the gas station, Peter refuses again, and insists they each buy their own. He’s fine that Stiles takes the rest of his drink into his fancy car, not worrying about the sweating paper cup tucked into the cup holder between them. He’s the kind of guy that Stiles would like to travel with if it weren’t for the fact that he’s also the kind of guy that Stiles really likes to kill.

There’s something fun when the victim du jour realizes that he can’t talk his way out of it, that he can’t buy his way out of it, and that there’s no real reason for this, other than Stiles’ enjoyment. Today’s the day that your time is up because you picked up the wrong person. It’s that simple. And sure, Stiles knows there’s something wrong with that, but it’s kind of fun seeing the light bulb go off over the person’s head when they finally figure it out. Peter with his relaxed, self-confident air is one of Stiles’ favorite types.  

He’d like to travel a little more with Peter.  He’s a good driver, who doesn’t go too slow or too fast. He moves easily around traffic and seems to really know the highways, sometimes pulling onto smaller roads and then back onto highways. But they’ve already stopped once and Stiles’ rule is not to be seen with his victim more than once. So, yeah, for a couple of reasons Peter’s gotta go.

But now it’s early afternoon, and he’s sitting in the sun with his belly full of cheese fries. The car gently rocks as they drive and the radio is turned down low. There’s time for a quick nap, he decides. After all, he doesn’t want to be tired, not when there’s so much fun coming later today.

 

Stiles barely notices when the car leaves the highway, as they’ve gone off the main roads before. He scrunches further in his seat and dozes off again. So he’s not quite sure where he is or just what’s happening when he wakes up with Peter’s hand around his neck, being dragged out of the car and into a dense grove of trees. Stiles tries to get his feet under him, but Peter’s strong and pulling him along, backwards and low to the ground so Stiles can’t quite stand.

“Come along now, Stiles,” Peter says, “we can make this as easy or as difficult as you’d like.”

“Stupid line there,” Stiles snips back, trying to pull Peter’s hand off his neck. His hand is like an iron band around his throat and Stiles doesn’t remember Peter having unusually long nails, but now he can feel them scratching his neck.

“Feisty, I like that,” Peter says and easily lifts him to swing him around in front of him. “I knew you’d be a good choice.”

Stiles takes the opportunity to dig into his jeans pocket and pull out a knife. He flicks it open, hoping Peter hasn’t noticed it while he aims a knee to Peter’s balls. He misses by a couple of inches, but hits Peter’s thigh hard enough to push him back and Stiles uses that chance to pull him off his feet, straddling him while he gets the knife to Peter’s throat.

“Clever boy,” Peter says, not moving his hand from Stiles’ neck. Then he shows his red eyes and all his teeth with a snarl.

“Oh shit, you’re a fucking alpha werewolf? Figures,” Stiles says, heaving a sigh. But the knife never moves from Peter’s throat.

Peter doesn’t move his hand away from Stiles and he’s almost gentle as he breaks the skin of the boy’s neck with his nails. “What do you know about werewolves?”

“My best friend back home was a werewolf,” Stiles replies. “So I know enough. And I know that the knife at your throat, coated with wolfsbane, might be making you a little uncomfortable.”

Peter realizes he doesn’t feel the sharpness of the blade at his throat, there’s just a cold numbness there. And he does have a headache, in his sinuses and in his eyes. He sniffs just a little and yes, that’s the scent of some type of wolfsbane.

“You know, you’d bleed out a lot sooner than I will,” Peter says, with a slight slur from his fangs combined with the effect of the wolfsbane.

“Seems like we both could go though, doesn’t it?” Stiles asks, staring at the wolf in front of him. Peter’s impressed by the steadiness of his heart and how he stares back at him, eyes never wavering.

Peter nods slightly, feeling the knife at his neck, “Deadlock, what an appropriate term. Count of three?”

“Should I trust you?” Stiles asks.

“Should I trust you, boy?”

“Count of three,” Stiles agrees and starts, “One. Two. Three.”

They both release their holds and fall back on the forest floor. Peter’s still in his beta shift, all fangs and claws and glowing red eyes.

“Well that was exciting,” Stiles says, blowing out a breath. “Not exactly what I planned for my evening, but still pretty interesting.”

“What was your plan?” Peter asks, and somehow he manages to look like he’s lounging in a business meeting, although he’s only leaning against a small tree. “You travel expecting werewolves? How do you know about them?”

“About them? You mean about you?” Stiles smirks and backs up against another tree, brushing his hand across his neck and frowning at the smear of blood on his hand. “My best friend was bitten by a werewolf about a year ago. So I know werewolves and I know what an alpha is.”

“Where was this?” Peter asks.

“At home. Beacon Hills, south of here. He was bitten by this alpha, her name was Kali. She had been kept by these hunter guys for a couple of full moons and when she got out, she was like feral, I guess.”

Peter nods and waits for Stiles to continue. He hears Stiles’ heart racing, but it’s not from a lie, it’s from the story he’s telling.

Stiles scrubs his hand through his hair and continues. “She bit Scott. I don’t think she knew what she was doing. When she realized what she did, she tried to be an alpha to him, but she didn’t really know what she was doing. And then…”

Peter feels a wave a grief come off Stiles and waits for him to continue.

“There was this other alpha who came in and found her and told her that she could be stronger if she killed her betas. Scott was her only beta and she was crazed and … she killed him. Like you were gonna kill me, she slashed his throat. He didn’t do anything to her, he just wanted to learn how to be good with his new werewolf powers and she just killed him.” Stiles puts his head on his knees and sits quietly for a minute.

“What happened to her?” Peter asks quietly.

Stiles lifts his head and looks at Peter. “After she killed Scott, I found the hunters who had held her and told them what happened. We found her and killed her. They gave me a gun with wolfsbane bullets and after they shot her full of arrows, I shot her with the wolfsbane bullet. They let me kill her.”

“Was that your first?”

Stiles snorts and says, “No. But she was the only one I cared about, the only one I’d given any thought to.”

Peter thinks he knows the answer, but it’s polite to ask, so he says, “And before that?”

“A homeless guy and a prostitute,” Stiles says, confirming Peter’s suspicions; they were among his firsts as well. There’s a reason they’re the number one serial number victim. “They were okay, you know, but nothing special.”

“Too easy,” Peter nods. “No challenge.”

Stiles’ eyes brighten as he nods. “Yeah, exactly. The woman, the prostitute, she fought like mad at first. She had big acrylic nails and left scratches on me.” He pulls his shirt down and shows Peter shadowy scars on his chest. “But after that struggle, she gave in, she gave up. The homeless guy…he just…he acted like it was inevitable and maybe it was.”

“So do you still have these wolfsbane bullets?” Peter asks.

“No, I only had the ones they gave me. But I did some research on the internet and found how to take wolfsbane and boil it down to a syrup, so that’s what’s on the knife.” The boy grins and shrugs. “I hadn’t even really remembered it was there, but apparently it’s a good thing it was.”

The two sit and study each other for a minute and Stiles finally says, “Well, I guess this was a wash out for both of us. Say we call it even with no hard feelings?”

Peter stands and brushes himself off. “Guess so.” He leans over and holds out a hand to pull Stiles up.

“Getting late. Any chance you can drop me at the Motel 6 that’s about three exits back? I know it’s back tracking for you, but…” he shrugs.

“The Motel 6? Are you sure?” Peter asks, as they start their walk back to the car.

“Gotta save some money, I’m running low.” Stiles grins and says, “I was planning on emptying your wallet afterwards. Unless you want to team up or something.”

Peter gets in the car and starts to drive back to the freeway without saying anything.

Stiles points to his left and says, “Uh, motel’s back that way. Or you can just leave me at the next off ramp and I can go from there.”

“I’ve never had a partner before. I can’t imagine how that would work,” he says.

“Oh! You’re thinking about it?” Stiles asks, smiling brightly. “I think it could be cool. Right now you’re a single guy driving around picking up hitchhikers, right? But together we could be like father and son and you’re driving me to college or something, right? Could we be any more harmless?”

Peter snorts. “You have Charles Manson eyes. You look like the love child of Charles Manson and Richard Ramirez.”

Stiles punches his arm and says, “You want to look like Ted Bundy, but you totally have a Jeffrey Dahmer vibe going.”

Peter glares at him and flashes his eyes. “Do that again and I will pull your arm off. If we were to travel together – and that’s a big if – I get to dress you and you’ll cut your hair. You need to clean up and look like a little less grubby.”

Stiles turns in his seat and nods happily. “I could do that. I used to have a buzz cut; I grew it out to look older.”

The wolf takes a sniff of his passenger’s excited scent and gives him a smile. It _is_ kind of relaxing not having to hide his true self.  “That’ll be tomorrow. It’s getting late so tonight it’s dinner and a motel.”

“Oh, pull into that strip mall,” Stiles exclaims and points where he wants to go. “Down that row.” He looks at the cars as Peter drives slowly and suddenly he calls out, “Stop!” Stiles jumps out of the car and crouches down, approaching a car.

Peter watches as he pulls a bumper sticker off the parked car, and then runs behind their car. A few seconds later he’s back in the car, buckling up and giggling. “Go, go!”

“What was that about and what did you do to my car?”

“Congratulations, Dad. You’re now the proud parent of a UC Santa Cruz student,” Stiles grins at him.

Peter grins and raises an eyebrow. “Go banana slugs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sammy the Slug really is the University of California Santa Cruz mascot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles share a little history and tricks of the trade then find a place to spend the night.

Peter decides they should drive a bit longer before they stop for the night. “Escape the scene of your latest crime,” he smirks. “We’ll go about an hour, maybe pull over in Burney or just past there.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, as he tries to find anything on the radio. “I was in Shasta by Pitt River off of 299 and found a body. It looked like maybe it was killed by an animal or someone who wanted it to look like an animal did it; was that one of yours?”

“Hmm,” Peter says, looking up thoughtfully, rubbing his goatee. “About a year ago? Woman? Maybe. How’d you find her?”

Stiles chuckles. “Funny story. I had a girl and I was going to do her right in that same area, cause you know the river’s good for that sort of thing. So we were in maybe a hundred yards into the woods and then we see this body half buried. Man, she freaks out and I ended up having to club her in the head to shut her up. So actually, you kind of fucked that up for me. She was so scared she peed herself, which was … ew.”

“Oh I hate that. But it is worse if you scare them so much they shit themselves. Almost takes the fun out of it. But I’m sorry to have spoiled your fun, however unintentional. I usually bury them pretty deep - something must have dug her up.” Peter answers and doesn’t bother looking sorry at all.

“She was missing a hand, so some other kinda animal must have taken it. She had dark hair, real short,” Stiles says, gesturing to the bottom of his ear and looking to see if that helps Peter remember.

“Maybe. It is a spot I’ve used before,” Peter confirms.

Stiles looks at him closely and asks, “You don’t reuse spots, do you?”

Peter snorts and gives him a quick glare. “Of course not, I’m not an amature. Don’t have a type, don’t have a frequency, don’t have a location. You?”

Stiles shakes his head, “Nope, try to keep them all over the board. My dad’s a sheriff, so you could say I’ve been studying this for a while.”

“Different methods?” Peter asks.

“Of course. Gun’s the least enjoyable, but it works if you need a quick out. Strangling is fun, you get up close. Knife’s my favorite.” Stiles smiles and gets a faraway look. “You stick with the animal attack?”

Peter nods. “It covers up a lot of potential sins. I need to just make sure that I don’t leave bruises that look like hands, nothing like strangling or something that an animal wouldn’t do.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles nods and thinks for a second. “You know, I know they poop when you kill them, but I just hate it when they poop and you haven’t even started anything yet. True confession, they get the gun, I don’t play with that.” He shudders theatrically. “Disgusting.”

“I had one, a guy that I picked up in a bar,” Peter says, warming up to shop-talk. “Things were going great, went out to a quiet little grove away from everyone. I gave him a partial shift and he got so scared he puked. He threw up everything he drank and apparently his dinner. It got on my shoes and the bottom of my pants. I was so pissed.” He shakes his head and chuckles at the memory. “I mean, all my clothes were going to be tossed, but I really hated to have to keep those disgusting shoes on while I was killing him. It didn’t take long, I just stomped his head in.”

“You toss your clothes? That’s good, that’s smart,” Stiles nods approvingly.

“Usually dumpsters behind restaurants or other places that already stink,” Peter confirms. “I do sometimes wish I chose a hobby that’s less smelly.”

“Yeah, me too. But I didn’t choose it, it chose me.”

“Really?” Peter asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You were one of those kids who tortured animals and burned things?”

“I _never_ hurt animals, I like animals. More than most people, actually. And that ‘homicidal triad’ theory has kind of been thrown out as not being accurate,” Stiles explains smugly.

“You didn’t deny burning things,” Peter points out. “And I’m not asking about bed-wetting.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, but there’s no heat in voice. “Beacon Hills had a hard time coming out of the recession and there were a lot of abandoned buildings. Sometimes they burn…” He smiles and shrugs. “And I wasn’t a bed wetter, although as I said, that idea of the triad has been…”

“Invalidated, I understand,” Peter says. “How about if we stop at the next exit?” they’re at the far edge of Burney and there’s signs for fast food restaurants and motel chains.

“Fine, I am tired,” Stiles says, stretching and scratching his belly. “This has been a truly remarkable day.” He beams at Peter who shoots him a grin with a few too many, too long teeth.

“Agreed. I’ll get us a room, you stay in the car,” he says as he pulls into the parking lot of a small chain. The car’s parked just out of sight of the main office, not too far to be suspicious, but not close enough that the desk clerk can see if there’s a passenger.

“Hey, leave the car on so I can listen to the radio?” Stiles asks.

Peter gives him an annoyed look, shuts the windows and takes the keys. He locks the car after himself, an empty gesture as Stiles can get out from the inside.

When they pull up outside the room, Peter grabs a duffle bag from the trunk and lets them in the room. The first thing he does is to pull the bedspread off one of the queen sized beds, sniffing, “How vile.” He turns to Stiles and says, “I’m not sure I like this, but I like it less with you in a separate room.”

“What?” Stiles says grinning. “I’m trustworthy. At least as trustworthy as you are. Werewolf.”

“Wolfsbane knifes,” Peter retorts. He sighs loudly and says, “This might be my worst idea ever. I’m taking a shower.” He takes his bag into the bathroom and gives Stiles a look over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid. Check the news; see if there’s anything we should worry about.”

“Yes, sir!” Stiles salutes and flops on the other bed.

When Peter comes out, he’s in a plain white t-shirt and blue boxers. He gestures to the bathroom and says, “Go shower. For a long time, use lots of soap and wash your hair. You’re a little ripe, even for my taste.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer,” Stiles says as he grabs his packback and goes into the bathroom.

When Stiles is done a half hour later, he makes a beeline for the pizza Peter ordered. Peter hands him a cola and they sit quietly, both lost in thought as they eat.

“I didn’t see anything on the news that should concern us. When we get a little further south, we should be able to find a library big enough to check the internet,” Peter states. “You don’t have a phone, do you?”

“Of course not,” Stiles answers, rolling his eyes. “Not a smart phone, just a simple one from the drug store. I throw it out at least every other month.”

“Good,” Peter nods. “We can share one and we’ll go with weekly from now on.”

“So bossy,” Stiles says, but he nods.

Peter gathers their napkins and soda cans and straightens up the room, while Stiles watches with a smirk. He throws the remote at him and get into his bed, saying, “You can watch TV if you want, I’m going to sleep.”

“Hmm,” Stiles answers. He approaches Peter’s bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head and pushes his boxers down his legs stepping out of them, eyes on Peter’s face.

“What are you doing?” Peter asks, looking at him, face expressionless.

He grins as he strokes himself and says, “Thought we should celebrate our new deal. I’m thinking I’d really like to suck your cock; I’m good at it. And I think you should fuck me.”

“Our deal doesn’t include that. You’re a child and you sound like a cheap whore,” Peter sneers and rolls over in his bed, back to Stiles.

He doesn’t see Stiles eyes darken, but he can smell the waves of anger coming off him. “The last person who called me that ended up getting his balls shot off. I sat by him and watched him bleed out, while he was begging me to shoot him again. And I’m _not_ a child, I’m twenty.”

“I don’t really care, go to your bed and deal with your problem yourself.”

“Oh, I will,” Stiles says and stomps the three feet to his bed.

A minute later, Peter hears him moaning and whimpering as he jerks himself off, muttering, “Yes, right there. Oh god, like that. God, Peter, right there do it more, harder, ummmm.” The bed creaks and he groans when he comes, exhaling loudly. “Good night, Peter,” he calls, chuckle in his voice.

“Night brat, now go to sleep.”  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a make-over and they help out a couple with car trouble.

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning when he hears the motel door open and smells hot coffee.

“You’re still asleep?” Peter asks, putting shopping bags on the foot of Stiles’ bed. “I was hoping you’d be up and showered.”

“Can’t do that without coffee,” Stiles whines, pouring packs of sugar into his cup. “Cream? Oh good, you brought food, too.” He unwraps a sandwich and points to the bags with his cup. “Whatcha get?”

Peter starts pulling out items and presenting them to Stiles. “This was the best I could do from Target. A few shirts for you; there’s a couple of t-shirts and a couple of polo-type. You’ll look presentable in them. New jeans and a couple of pairs of khakis.  Very college student appropriate.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of stuff. Did you get my sizes from my clothes?”

“Yes, of course. And I think we should take yesterday’s clothes and leave them here in the dumpster.” He raises an eyebrow and asks, “Is there any reason not to do that?”

“Nope, good idea, even I think they stink.” Stiles pokes at the remaining bags and asks, “What else you get?”

Peter dumps out another bag and grins. “Hair clippers and a few basic toiletries. Shower first or hair first?”

“Let’s do the hair and get it over with,” Stiles says, grabbing the supplies Peter brought and heading for the bathroom. “You bought soap and deodorant? You’re really pushy, has anyone told you that? I do have deodorant, I’m not a total animal.”

“I know,” Peter answers. “But it’s strong to me. And noticeable. Our goal is to be completely unnoticeable. To be someone that people completely overlook, that no one pays attention to. No one sees us, hears us, smells us or takes any notice whatsoever.  Understood?”

Stiles smiles and heads into the bathroom. “Sounds like high school all over again.”

 

An hour later, they’re back on the road. Stiles is clean and dressed in his new clothes. His hair is freshly buzzed and face shaved close.  He keeps pulling down the visor to check himself in the mirror. “God, I look sixteen again. What a dork,” he slams the visor back up and grimaces at Peter. “You sure I look trustworthy?”

“Eh,” Peter shrugs. “You look much less like a crazed killer. Clothes comfortable?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he answers smoothing down the khakis. “I mean, it’s like a costume, but one I can work with, I guess.”

“I think you look very handsome,” Peter tells him as they enter a new highway. “So are we going anywhere in particular today? Are we looking for someone special?”

Stiles shrugs. “Keep heading south and let’s see if opportunity knocks. I don’t think this is something you can force.” He looks out the window and then asks, “So how many for you?”

“How many?” Peter asks, not even pretending not to understand. “Hmm. Thirty-three. How about you?”

“Seven,” Stiles answers. “I guess you’ve had a few more years to practice.”

“Yes, I have been doing this for a while I guess,” he smiles at his passenger. “Never gets old.”

“No, it’s always something new. So tell me, how’d you get to be an alpha werewolf?”

“What do you know about alpha werewolves, Stiles?” Peter asks, flashing his red eyes at the boy.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. “I know there’s born wolves and bitten wolves. And a wolf needs to kill an alpha to take their alpha power. So was one of your thirty-three an alpha werewolf?”

“No,” Peter says. Stiles can see his jaw clench and he pauses before he answers, “It was my niece.  It was…a bad time and bad things happened.”

“Hm, okay. Do you have any other relatives?” Stiles asks, hoping to change the subject.

“I have a nephew back home. We’re not particularly close; after all, I killed his sister. We talk a couple of times a year, I think mostly so he can keep track of me,” Peter answers. “Other than that, I’m the last in my family. What about you, you mentioned your father’s the sheriff?”

“Yeah, he is. I’m an only child,” Stiles says.  If Peter notices Stiles’ scent changing or how he shrinks in the seat, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Dad’s mother is still alive, she’s in Boca Raton, but basically it’s just us.”

Peter grins at him, reaching over and chucking him under the chin. “Where’s your mother? Isn’t she around to see her little fire-setting baby or…” Before Peter can finish his question, he’s stopped by the jackknife Stiles plunges into his thigh.

“Shut up! Don’t you _ever_ talk about my mother again! Ever!” Stiles yells as Peter jerks the steering wheel, pulling the car to the side of the road.

Peter pulls the knife out of his leg and throws it back at Stiles with a snarl. “Try that again and you are dead. Damn it, these jeans were new and now they’re ruined. You’re lucky they’re black so the blood won’t show.”

“You’re lucky that knife doesn’t have wolfsbane on it,” Stiles snarls back.

Peter pulls the car back onto the road and gradually retracts his claws. Stiles turns his back and stares out the window. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if something interesting happens.”

 

Stiles isn’t sure how much time has passed, but he comes awake instantly when Peter nudges him. “Wake up, Richard.  I think something interesting is about to happen.”

“Richard?” Stiles mutters and sits up a little. “Who is… oh.” Up ahead at the side of the road, is an SUV and standing behind it are a man and a woman.  “So Dad, do you think we should play good samaritan?”

Peter smiles at him, fangs poking out over his lips. “I think so. Let’s see how we can help.”

He pulls to the side of the road, unrolls the window and leans over Stiles. “Hi, you guys okay?”

The man looks up and smiles broadly, while the woman’s smile is a little more timid. “Car broke down, think we overheated,” the man says.

“I’ve tried to call AAA, but there’s no cell reception, I guess,” the woman says, studying her phone.

Stiles snorts and looks at his phone with a scowl. “Nope, no service out here.” It’s off and he keeps the screen hidden from the couple outside the car.

“We can give you guys a ride to the next service station, if you’d like,” Peter says helpfully.

The woman quickly jumps in, “Oh, we don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no problem,” Peter says. “We’re going in the same direction.”  He turns to Stiles and says, “Richard, when are we supposed to pick up Ashley?”

Stiles looks at his watch and says, “Um, about 45 minutes, Dad?”

Peter smiles at the couple and says, “I think I saw a sign saying the next services are ten miles up the freeway. We can drop you off and I’m sure they can come back and tow your car or whatever.”

“That would be really helpful, thanks,” the man says, moving towards the car.

“Daniel, we can wait, I’m sure a service truck or highway patrol will be along soon.”

“Anna?” Daniel says to his wife and then smiles at Peter and says, “Can you hold on for just a minute?” And he guides Anna back behind their SUV where Stiles and Peter can watch their discussion.

“What do you think?” Stiles asks quietly, keeping his head down. “Are we a go?”

“Looks promising,” Peter whispers. He reaches a hand over and scratches the back of Stiles’ head. “Looks very promising. Oh, we have company.”

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting, offer still open?” the man says, leaning in the car window.

“Of course, glad to help,” Peter says smiling. “I hope the back seat’s not too uncomfortable.  I’m Ted and this is my son, Richard.”

 “Daniel and Anna,” the man says.

Anna smiles tightly and says, “Thanks so much for stopping, I guess this is our lucky day.”

“Oh, nonsense,” says Peter, “the pleasure is all ours.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning up afterwards. Traveling and shopping. Cute bonding with serial killers.

“Well, what do you think?”

Peter stretches with a groan and tries to find a comfortable position on the ground leaning against a small tree. “I think women generally have better instincts than men.”

“Obviously,” Stiles snorts. “Other than that, pretty good though. And I think we work pretty well together.” He rearranges himself so his head is on Peter’s lap.

Peter grunts in agreement and pats Stiles’ belly. “Well, while I do enjoy a nice afterglow, we should get up and clean everything up here.” He looks at the body parts strewn across the clearing they’re in. “I’ll dig a few holes we can put them in. Can you grab any bits of clothing?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, sitting up and forcing himself to his feet. He’s sluggish and feeling quite content. “You have garbage bags in the trunk?”

“Of course, let me get them,” Peter says. He walks to his car, which is parked off to the side of the field. He pulls off his bloody shirt and finds a clean spot, using it to trigger the key fob opening the trunk. “Here you go,” he says and pulls out two plastic garbage bags. “We’ll leave this one for clothes.”

It’s relaxing to digs the holes and then drag the body parts into them, covering them with dirt. Stiles picks up the scraps of clothes and any bits of flesh he can find, wrinkling his nose while putting them in the bag. With the two of them working together silently it doesn’t take too long.

Stiles looks around and nods. “I think that looks pretty good. Clothes next?”

“Yes, in the second bag, I think we can risk putting both of ours together, unless you’d rather not,” Peter says, toeing off his shoes and pulling off his socks. He puts one on his hand and pulls out a gallon bottle of water from the trunk along with some baby diaper wipes.

Stiles shrugs and pulls his shirt over his head and quickly takes off his shoes and pants. “I’m okay with it, fewer bags is good too. I think my socks are clean, hard to tell since they’re dark.”

“Dump them,” Peter orders. “Rather waste a pair than get caught with them.” He raises an eyebrow watching Stiles pulling off his boxers that are sticking to his leg from the orgasm he had earlier.

Stiles shrugs and gives Peter a challenging look while wiping himself off before he tosses them in the bag with the rest of his clothes. “Question? Snarky comment maybe?”

“No, you enjoyed yourself.” Peter hands him the box of diaper wipes and the gallon of water. “Be sure to wash your hands as much as possible. We’ll shower later, but need to be clean enough for a passing look.”

They split the gallon of water on hands, arms, and faces and use the wipes for everywhere else, including extra scrubbing around the finger nails, especially for Peter, whose nails are caked with both blood and dirt. Everything goes into the garbage bag. When they’re reasonably clean, Peter pulls new clothes out of the trunk for both of them.

Stiles yawns and rubs his eyes, giving the field another quick look as he dresses. “So now what, boss?”

Peter grins and stretches, resting a foot on the bumper to tie his shoe. “Dump the bags and then maybe grab something from a drive through? Then a motel for the night.”

“Is it time for a motel?” Stiles looks up in surprise at the darkening sky. “What time is it? How long did they last?”

“It’s close to eight o’clock, they lasted almost six hours.”

“Wow, it didn’t seem that long, but I guess it never does.” He helps load the bags on top of another empty bag in the trunk and then gets into the passenger seat. “Well good for them, they should be proud of themselves. Time for a garbage run.”

Peter stays off the highway and drives several miles until he pulls over by a convenience store. Around the back are familiar blue dumpsters and Peter looks around quickly before he gets out of the car and tosses their garbage bags in the trash. He’s back in the driver’s seat in less than a minute. Clean up completed in under an hour, including dumping the garbage.

Soon they’re on the highway again heading further east this time. After about thirty minutes, Peter pulls into a small Mexican restaurant that has a drive through for a couple of burritos. A few more minutes and they’re tucked into another small, no-name motel, paying cash for the night. This time, Stiles showers and falls into bed without any fuss. It’s been an exciting and exhausting day.

 

“Maybe we should head east a little, what do you think?” Peter asks, after they’ve been on the road for a bit. “We could head for Paradise, doesn’t that sound perfect?”

“Sure,” Stiles answers, shrugging. He’s been quiet all morning, slumped down in the seat, not talking.

“Everything okay?” Peter asks, sniffing the air between them.

Stiles turns and says, “I guess it’s just a little depressing the day after. We can’t do it every day, I know that. It just makes me kind of down, I guess.”

“Post homicidal maniac syndrome? Well, we can plan for the next one, decide what we might want to do differently,” Peter suggests. He reaches a hand over and pats Stiles on the knee, earning a tentative smile. “Although I have to say, you exceeded expectations from the start. In character to get them in and then enthusiastic and creative afterwards. And as careful and helpful with clean up as I could want. You were, in a word, perfect.”

Stiles wiggles in the car seat, leaning back with his fingers laced behind his neck. He smells pleased and proud and just a little embarrassed and Peter’s surprised at how much he enjoys the boy’s happiness.

“Thanks, Peter. I really liked it too,” Stiles says, blushing a little with the praise. “It was interesting with someone else, playing off each other. Easier too, not trying to keep two people under control by yourself.”

“Have you done two before?”Peter asks, because he has and it _is_ a challenge. He’s had to either kill one quickly or at least break a leg or two to make sure he can keep control.

“Once. I spent so much time trying to make sure one wasn’t getting away, it wasn’t that enjoyable.” Stiles scratches his head. “I ended up just shooting one of them, which was a waste. Much better with a partner!”

Peter smiles and puts his hand back on Stiles’ knee. “I agree, son.”

 

Peter drives, not going anywhere in particular, just the general direction of south and east. Stiles dozes on and off, finally waking to announce, “I’m hungry. Do you think we can stop someplace?”

“Sure, do you want real food or snacks?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says. “God, I’d love mac and cheese, but I doubt that’s on the menu anywhere.”

“Maybe we can stop for dinner when we get a little more mileage in. Keep an eye open for what you want.” Peter takes an exit that says it has ‘services’ which means food, restaurants and gas. They filled up recently, so that’s not a problem, but maybe grabbing something for lunch and road snacks will put Stiles in a better mood.

They pull into a strip mall with about a dozen small shops. No big anchor stores, but there’s a couple of franchise fast food places and few independent stores.

“Let’s stop in here,” Peter says, taking Stiles by the elbow and directing him into a small, boutiquey gift shop.

Stiles lets himself be pushed inside, but gives Peter a skeptical look asking, “Really?”

“Sometimes they have nice snacks or chocolates. I’ll buy you something, you’ve been very good on our trip,” Peter tells him, giving the shop a quick survey and heading down an aisle.

“Okay, Dad, whatever you say,” Stiles says and heads off in another direction.

Peter finds a row that has boxes of gourmet crackers and snacks and picks out two, keeping track of Stiles’ progress as he wanders around the store. Stiles suddenly appears by his side with something in his hand.

“Hey, can I have this?” he asks, almost shyly. He’s holding a small glass figurine of a fox, in shades of reds and golds. It’s very pretty, delicate, but doesn’t look too fragile.

Peter takes it and puts it on top of his boxes. “Of course. Pick out something you’d like to snack on while we drive.”

“I didn’t mean you have to buy it,” he says, reaching for the fox, but Peter turns away.

“Present for you,” Peter says and turns Stiles up the row. “There’s chocolates over there if you’d like. I don’t have a big sweet tooth, but I know you do.”

Stile picks out two boxes of cookies and joins Peter at the register. The cashier smiles at them and asks, “Is the fox a gift? Would you like a box?”

Peter looks to Stiles, who just stares at the fox as though he’s in a trance. “Richard? Would you like a box?” When he doesn’t respond, Peter nudges his side and asks again, “Richard? You in there?”

Stiles startles and says, “Sorry, wasn’t paying attention, Dad. Yeah, please. Probably get it to my dorm safer.”

The cashier smiles and finds a small box for the fox and rings up the rest of their purchases. “Where do you go to school?”

“UC Santa Cruz,” Stiles answers immediately. “We’ve got a long drive back for class on Monday.”

She packs everything into a bag and hands it to Peter who gives her cash for the purchase. “Thank you, have a good day,” she chirps as they leave.

“You too,” Peter says, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and guiding him out of the store.

In the car, Stiles takes the small box out of the bag and looks at his gift with a smile, touching it gently. His scent is strong and happy and Peter thinks it’s a different happy that he hasn’t smelled before. Yesterday with the couple in the woods, he was happy certainly, but there was an undercurrent of manic energy – of madness probably, if he’s honest. This happiness is pure and warm, similar to when he complimented him earlier, but different. “Sugar,” Peter says thoughtfully. “Carmelized sugar.”

“What?”

“Nothing, don’t worry. I’m glad you like your trinket,” Peter tells him, pulling the car out of their space. “If you’re not hungry for lunch, how about we get a couple of sodas and do a full stop later?”

Stiles nods and puts the box into his backpack, settling it down on the floor by his feet. “Sure, Coke and some of these cookies works for me. You sure you’re okay, I know the wolfie thing means you get hungry, right?”

Peter tries to give him a severe look, but it only makes Stiles laugh. “Coke? I may have to kill you yet. I’ll grab some sodas and probably get some more water for the cooler.” He pulls into the gas station and convenience store at the end of the mall and gets out of the car. “Could you give the windows a quick wash?”

“Sure, glad I can do something,” Stiles answers getting out the car and heading for the squeegees.

In the store, Peter gets two Cokes and two Pepsis and a six pack of bottled water and heads for the counter. There’s a couple of people in front of him, so he balances his purchases while digging out his wallet. When he looks up, the television behind the counter catches his eye. The volume is off, but there are pictures of Stiles on the TV and the captioning is part of an interview with his father, official in his sheriff’s uniform, talking about how his son has been missing for a year. The reporter keep talking as additional pictures of Beacon Hills and Stiles show on the screen, including one that’s obviously from high school with his hair in a buzz cut.

He comes in just as Peter approaches the counter and before he can speak, Peter hands him the keys and whispers, “Go start the car, please.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, just nods and turns around while Peter starts to pay. The cashier looks at him and at Stiles leaving the store, and doesn’t say anything; he quickly bags Peter’s purchases and gives him change.

Peter gets to the car, Stiles already in the seat, looking anxious. “What happened, is everything okay?”

Peter pulls out, driving carefully towards the exit. He looks in the rear view mirror and sees the clerk standing outside looking at them. Then Peter sees the sun reflect off his camera phone.

“Well, fuck.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles need to escape detection and adversity brings them closer. (No, not that close.)

Chapter 6

“Peter, what happened, what’s going on?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, just drives a little faster than normal and pulls off at the next exit onto a fairly busy street, frequently checking his rear view mirror.

“Peter, come on, you’re freaking me out, what happened?” Stiles is turned to him, looking and smelling anxious, not sure what to do with his hands.

“While waiting in line, I saw a newscast. Apparently, the son of a small town sheriff disappeared a year ago this week. Guess whose picture they showed on the screen?” Peter pulls off the main street and takes several turns into a small residential area. “And how the hell is that first named pronounced?”

“Stiles,” he says quickly. “Did they talk with my dad?”

“If his name is Andrew Stilinski, and he wears a sheriff’s uniform, then yes. I saw part of an interview he gave.” He drives and takes a few more turns, and it doesn’t look to Stiles like he has an actual destination, just getting away from the mall and the service station.

“I could leave, say that I had been kidnapped and escaped or they just decided to let me go. Or that I didn’t know anyone was looking for me and I’ve just been bumming around.”

“Do you want to go home?” Peter asks, slowing as he turns into another neighborhood.

Stiles puts a hand on Peter’s arm and waits until he looks over before he answers. “I want you to be safe. Even if that means I’m not with you.”

“But do _you_ want to stop? Do you want to go home?” Peter asks again, looking back at him as he pulls to the side of a street.

“No. No, I’m not ready to stop yet,” Stiles says. He watches Peter, whose expression doesn’t change and decides he’ll say it. “I want to stay with you. If you want me to.”

Peter nods and gives a tiny smile. “Only if you’re sure. You know you’re free to go at any time. But I don’t want you to go unless you want to.” He turns and looks at the houses across the street from the car. The street has houses on only one side, spaced far apart and back from the road, not like the crowded subdivision Stiles is used to. After a minute, Peter pulls forward passing a few houses before he stops again.

 “What…” Stiles starts and Peter puts a hand on his arm.

“Hush, I’m listening.” He cocks his head and shuts his eyes, something Stiles remembers Scott doing when he was trying to hear something far away. Peter shakes his head and pulls the car forward again, shutting his eyes again. Then he looks at Stiles and says, “That one, the yellow house. You have your gun?”

Stiles nods and says, “What are we doing?”

“Changing cars, I’m afraid. It’s a loss, but necessary. Take your gun, but don’t show it yet,” he instructs and watches as Stiles shoves it in the waistband of the back of his pants, pulling his shirt over it. Peter nods approvingly and points to the house. “You’ll go to the backdoor and tell me when you’re there. You’ll hear me when it’s time for you to come in. Ready?” he asks and waits for Stiles to nod.

Peter pulls the car around the side of the house to the garage. They’re not quite hidden from the street, but someone would need to be looking for them to see their car. Stiles gets out, shutting the door carefully and then creeps towards the back of the house.

After Stiles disappears, Peter gets out walks to the front door waiting until he hears Stiles say ‘I’m here’ before he rings the doorbell.

An older man with thinning white hair, glasses, and a cautious smile answers the door. He looks at Peter and says, “Yes, can I help you?”

Peter smiles broadly and says, “Fuller Brush man,” and then shoulders his way into the house.

 

The man and his wife are now sitting next to each other in the kitchen, holding hands. Stiles stands to the side, watching Peter who is rifling through a small desk next to the kitchen table.

“Benjamin and Elizabeth Brennan,” he reads off an envelope. He smiles at the woman and says, “Are you a Liz or a Beth? Or maybe a Betsy?”

She stares back coldly and says, “Mrs. Brennan.”

Peter chuckles and bows his head. “Of course, Mrs. Brennan, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. Let me explain, please. My son and I are in a little bit of a jam and we need to borrow your car. Or, I guess to be honest, we’re stealing it. Because it’s not like we’re going to return it to you.”

Mrs. Brennan looks at her husband and says, “They want to take the car?”

“That’s fine,” he spits, “the keys are by the door. Just take it and leave.”

“Well, thank you for your understanding, Mr. Brennan. Of course, there’s a little problem still, we really shouldn’t leave until it’s a darker out. I hate to impose, but…” Peter shrugs and holding up his hands like ‘what can you do?’

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Mrs. Brennan says to Peter as she looks over at Stiles, who is leaning against the fridge watching as though it’s a play. “Taking your son along with you, turning him into a criminal. That’s no way to raise a child.”

“Hush, Betsy,” Mr. Brennan whispers, squeezing her hand.

Peter shrugs and gives them both a small, sad smile. “You’re right, Mrs. Brennan. I’m not a good father at all.” He winks at Stiles and turns back to the Brennans. “While we need to stay here, I don’t expect you to keep us entertained. You’ll probably be more comfortable in your room; I assume you have a TV or something in there. No phones, I’m afraid, that wouldn’t be fair at all. Son, would you please escort our hosts to their room?”

Stiles nods and moves towards the Brennans, looking over at Peter for other instructions. Peter smiles at him and reaches an arm behind his back, hand to his waist. Stiles nods again and says, “Lead the way, please.”

Peter goes back to the desk, and pockets a few twenties he finds in an envelope. After a minute Peter hears Mr. Brennan shout, followed by a muffled gunshot and then Mrs. Brennan cries “Ben! No, please!” and there’s another shot.

Peter expects Stiles to come right back; he doesn’t expect to hear Stiles throwing up in what Peter assumes is the bathroom. He sighs and pulls out a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, pouring a glass and waiting for the boy to come back. Stiles reeks of embarrassment and guilt when he comes in and Peter directs him to a kitchen chair, pushing the juice towards him. He looks at Stiles and asks, “You okay?”

He nods and sips the juice, not meeting Peter’s eyes. “Sorry. Just…that wasn’t fun, you know?”

“I know,” Peter says, nodding taking a seat across from Stiles. “But it was necessary, you know that, right?”

“Of course, that’s why I did it. But I couldn’t get them both in the bedroom -- he’s too heavy. I’m sorry.”

Peter reaches across the table and takes Stiles’ hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He goes down the hallway and sees Mr. Brennan lying in the hallway, halfway into the bedroom. Peter easily drags him into the room and places his body next to Mrs. Brennan’s. He shuts the door to their room and finds a bathroom rug to cover the stain in the hallway that might upset Stiles later on.

When Peter goes back to the kitchen, Stiles is still at the table, but his color is back and he gives Peter a shaky smile when he sits again. “The offer still stands, Stiles. If you don’t want to keep going you can stay here. When I leave, I can tie you up and then you get loose and call the police. Blame everything they ask you about on me.”

Stiles puts the glass down hard enough that some juice spills on the table. “Do you want to leave me here? You keep offering to have me bail on you.”

“I want you to make up your own mind and I’m willing to let you stay here if you want.” Peter smiles as he says, “I might have to punch you a few times to make it look authentic, but that’s just a necessary evil. Stay here or come with me, but I can’t guarantee how it’ll go for the future.”

“You’re not worried,” Stiles points out, and caresses Peter’s face then quickly drops his hand.

Peter sighs. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf. If things get bad, I can dump everything in my life, including the clothes on my back, and run as long as I need to. And if anyone tries to stop me – well, you’ve seen what happens.”

“Well, unless I’m one of the things you dump, I’m staying. Until the bitter ugly end when we hold hands and drive off a cliff together,” Stiles declares. “Now I want food, a shower and bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Pete says, saluting. “I’ll get us dinner, there’s a few things in the fridge. It’ll be nice to have something homemade for a change.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone, tossing it to Stiles. “Here, see if you can get into this and if you can find any police reports or anything.”

Stiles grabs the phone eagerly, keying almost before it’s fully turned on. “iPhone 4, kinda modern couple. I can’t quite hack into one of these, but I’ll see what I can find here. If I could get to a laptop, I might be able to get into my dad’s system. I left a trap door in it.”

Head buried in the fridge, Peter says, “Might be dangerous, they could have found it by now.” He pulls out what looks like half the fridge, giving a satisfied look at the counter. “I hope you’re hungry, I think the Bansons must have just gone grocery shopping.”

“Brennans,” Stiles corrects him, not looking up. “It’s polite to remember who you killed, you know. I’m not finding a lot in public records. There’s stuff about me being missing. Which is odd, because hey, I’m right here.”

Peter looks over and takes a sniff, checking that Stiles’ scent is calm before he goes back to cooking.

“There is one thing that’s a little concerning,” he says a few minutes later. He goes to stand next to Peter and shows him the screen. “I found an article from Klamath Falls, Oregon. The cops want to talk to you about a missing person, Laura Hale.”

Peter nods and continues ripping apart a roasted chicken with just a hint of his claws out. “I’m guessing ‘want to talk to’ is another way to say ‘is a suspect’ in police talk?”

“Usually,” Stiles agrees, and reaches over to steal some of the dark meat. “Although saying she’s missing is interesting. Maybe they haven’t found her.”

“Possible,” Peter says, not bothering to look up. “Why don’t you go shower, dinner will be ready when you’re done.”

“What are we having?”

“Chicken Caesar salad, cheeseburgers and macaroni and cheese,” Peter grins, and grabs Stiles into a quick hug, nose pressed in his neck.

Stiles melts against him, tilting his head so Peter has more room. “You’re terrific - I never expected domestic. I’m going for a shower.”

 

After they stuff themselves, they settle on the couch in the small living room, drawing the drapes, and keeping the lights off, in case any neighbors check. Stiles gets to pick what they watch on television, finding old episodes of Doctor Who and draping himself across Peter.

Peter ignores the TV as he brushes his hand down Stiles’ arm. There’s no real intent there, just the comfort of a repetitive gesture and the boy’s contented smell. “We should get to sleep soon, Stiles. We’ll leave early in the morning. I’m thinking we’ll cut over to 70 and keep going south. I’d like to get to some larger cities tomorrow; I just think we’ll stand out less.”

“I am tired, it’s been a long day.” He stands and stretches, keeping his eyes open enough to see Peter watching the flash of his stomach.

Stiles goes to what’s obviously the guest room, strips down to his boxers and gets into the double bed curling up on his side. In a minute, Peter’s behind him, werewolf heat warm against his back. “Sleep, Stiles. This is the only open bed and we both need sleep.”

Stiles reaches back and rubs a hand on Peter’s hip. “Umm hmm, too tired for anything anyway,” he murmurs, dozing off almost immediately. “But you want to keep me, admit it.”

“Perhaps,” Peter says, nipping the boy’s neck as they both fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the road, at least temporarily.

The next morning Stiles awakes alone in the bed, with the house smelling like breakfast. “Coffee?” he mutters stumbling into the kitchen.

Peter shoves a steaming cup at him and says, “Glad you got up, I was about to wake you. We’re leaving right after breakfast.” He’s at the stove, stirring something that smells good especially combined with the smell of the cooking bacon.

“Bacon? There’s bacon?” Stiles asks, moving around Peter’s elbows. He snags a strip and tries to see what else Peter’s cooking.

“Bacon, eggs, potatoes and toast.” Peter hands him a butter knife and tub of margarine and pushes him gently to some open counter space by the toaster. The bread pops up and Stiles starts buttering, grinning as he rips the first piece in half, shoving it in his mouth. Peter shuts his eyes and inhales the caramel-sugar scent that has nothing to do with what he’s cooking.

They’re quiet when they start their breakfast, Stiles shoveling food in his mouth as though someone might take it away. After a few minutes, he takes a breath and points his fork at Peter. “You think I’m not going to say something about the new look?”

Before Stiles woke, Peter shaved his goatee and he has no obvious product in his hair, which is combed slightly to the side. “Go ahead, it’s what I could do to change my appearance. We can’t do much for you, unless we shave your head entirely,” Peter says.

Stiles chuckles as he eats another strip of bacon. “You look like a cop.”

Peter cocks an eyebrow and drinks more coffee. “Hopefully at least like a crooked cop.”

“Oh at least,” Stiles says and studies him while sipping juice. “Anyone who isn’t blind can see that there’s something very wrong with you. Not just that you’re a werewolf, I’ve met werewolves that were fine inside. You’re just…wrong inside.”

Peter finishes his coffee and stands, putting dishes in the sink. It’s pointless, he doesn’t plan to wash them, but he has habits. “I’d be insulted,” he says, “but I’m guessing you know what wrong looks like.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, putting his dishes next to Peter’s. “One of the reasons why I avoid mirrors.”

 

Stiles packs up the car, which is mainly throwing their bags in the back seat along with a couple of extra t-shirts. Taking clothes from the dead guy is a little creepy, but there were some still in the package, so he figures those are fair game. Peter suggested he wear khakis and a button down today, so he looks at least a little different than when he was on the television. He found a pair of glasses in the house with a black frame and only a very slight prescription, so he’s wearing those, too. They’re actually pretty good, things look a little sharper. Maybe at some point he should get his eyes checked.

“Okay, let’s get going.” Peter gets in the car, after storing more things in the back seat.

“What’s in there?” Stiles asks, looking back between Peter and the back seat. “You took their cooler? I’m sorry, but I think that’s a little extreme.”

Peter shrugs and drives away, “It’s not like the Bransons will be needing it.”

Stiles whips his head towards Peter and says, “Brennans. They were the Brennans. Fuck man, have a little respect for the dead, would you.”

“My apologies, Stiles. You’re right. They’ve given us this lovely car and lots of food and a place to sleep.”

Stiles nods and says, “And their slightly out of date phone. What’s in the cooler anyway?”

Peter reaches over and takes the phone from him, putting it in his shirt pocket after checking to be sure it’s off. It earns him another scowl from Stiles.  

“Bacon and cheese and ham and cheese sandwiches. So we don’t need to stop for lunch,” Peter says. “Juice and a few pieces of fruit.”

“Oh great,” Stiles says, leaning in the back seat, looking at the cooler. “Any mac and cheese, I can eat that cold.”

“No, you ate it all yesterday,” Peter tells him, glad that they’re apparently over their spat.

“When can we eat?”

“I think we should at least get out of the neighborhood,” Peter says, pulling on another two- lane freeway, continuing south.

Stiles scratches his head and pulls out a map that’s in the car door pocket. “Why don’t we go east, head into Nevada? Just get out of California entirely?”

“I don’t want to cross the Sierra Nevadas here,” Peter says. “I know it’s too early for snow, but I don’t know this car and I don’t know the roads there. Maybe we’ll end up going east later, but right now, I think we keep going south.”

“I’ve never been out of California,” Stiles says wistfully and Peter catches a bitter scent that he thinks is regret. The boy’s emotions change so rapidly, it’s hard to keep up.

“We’ll go, I promise. When we can be sure that we don’t need to turn into the Donner Party. I know I’d be fine, you may not enjoy it so much,” he says, showing Stiles a mouth full of fang.

Stiles laughs, washing the bitter scent out of the air. “I’ve never actually eaten anyone, you know? Bet you have.”

Peter just smiles again, showing his teeth again and raising an eyebrow.

“Taste like chicken?” Stiles asks.

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Pork,” Peter finally says.

 

Stiles is dreaming of hospitals and ambulances and emergency bells ringing in his mother’s room when he jerks awake to Peter’s hand on his leg and a police siren behind them.

“What’s up?” he asks, rubbing his eyes, instantly alert.

“Not sure,” Peter says as he pulls to the side of the road. The state police car pulls behind them, lights flashing, leaving about thirty feet between them. “Not speeding. I’m thinking this isn’t good, Thelma.”

Stiles pulls his backpack on his lap and roots through it, checking the side mirror, while he continues to face straight ahead. “So why am I Thelma?”

Peter watches the officer in the rear view mirror. He’s still in his car, apparently talking on the radio. “Thelma was more impulsive. Louise was more of a planner. That and Thelma was younger and could be thought of as more traditionally hot.”

“Impulsive? Guess that fits,” Stiles says, placing his gun between his legs and letting the backpack fall back to the floor. He unbuckles his seat belt, holding it across his chest with one arm. “And you think I’m hot.”

“Hmm,” Peter says, watching him. “Upping the ante, are we?”

“He started it,” Stiles says, and falls silent watching the officer. “Is that a problem?” He waits until Peter shrugs, both watching the car behind them in their mirrors. “Let’s see if he’s brave and stupid or smart and cautious.” The officer finally leaves his car and starts to approach them, hand on his hip by his gun. “Stupid,” Stiles says and gets out of the car, gun raised. Peter’s out of the car before the officer hits the ground.

“Now what?” Peter asks.

Stiles picks up the officer’s gun and tucks it down the back of his pants. “Our car trunk, come on, hurry.” So far, no one has passed them, but it could happen any second now. Stiles opens the trunk and Peter easily dumps the body inside, shutting it quickly and they both sprint to the car, getting in and taking off.

Peter takes the next exit, and they both listen for any sirens behind them. “We need to dump this car as soon as possible,” he says, “I’m sure he called it in, that’s what took him so long.”

“Yeah, duh,” Stiles says. “Can you find us another house with a car?”

“Give me a few, please. I wasn’t expecting to lose this car quite so quickly. I was hoping we could go a day without killing anyone,” Peter snaps back.

“Well, shit happens.” Stiles slumps down in his seat, and puts both guns in his backpack as Peter repeats his process of crawling down the street listening for the house he wants. “Here we go again,” he says as Peter pulls into a driveway around the side of a small house.

“This one is empty,” he says, getting out of the car. “I can smell a car, hopefully it works…” He pulls open the garage door and there’s a rather battered old jeep parked inside.

“Cool!” Stiles exclaims. “I had a jeep back home, this is great!”

Peter gets back into their car and parks it next to the jeep saying, “We’ll get the Brennan’s car off the road. Hope this one works or else I can get us one later tonight.”

“Are we staying here for a while?”

Peter nods and gets their bags out of the back seat. “Not too long. Get the coolers, we’ll see if there’s anything in the house. I think it’s been empty for a while, it smells stale. I really hope that damn jeep works and we can find the keys.”

“If it runs, I can hotwire it. I had to learn that with my jeep, sometimes the starter didn’t work right,” Stiles says, popping open the hood and looking inside. “Battery, spark plugs, all the needed stuff’s here. Why don’t you go inside and see if you can find a key?”

Peter carries the bags in and does a quick check around the house, which is empty and slightly dusty. It doesn’t have a lot of personal belongings in it, and Peter checks the drawers in the two bedrooms which are empty.

“I think this might be a vacation property,” he tells Stiles, going back into the garage. “How’s the car look?”

“It’ll run,” Stiles says, shutting the hood, and wiping his hands on his shirt. “Not as nice as the last two cars, but it’ll run. I’m thinking we should siphon the gas from the old car into it, give us a few more miles before we have to stop.”

“I couldn’t find the keys, but you said you can get it going?”

“Yup,” he says again, grinning. “We can test it now if you want, but I thought you wanted to keep the garage door shut and frankly I don’t want to die from something as simple as carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“No, I suppose not.” Peter looks at the jeep, which looks like it hasn’t been out of the garage for a while. “Tires okay?”

Stiles sighs and pulls Peter towards the house. “Look, it’s not a pretty car or anything special, but it’ll get us out of here. And because it’s not flashy and probably hasn’t been on the road for awhile, we’ll fly under the radar, just like you like. We can swap it out with something more your style when we get further south.”

“Looks like I have to trust you,” Peter says to his partner. “I hate that.”

Stiles just grins and says, “Suck it up, Louise. And remember, I’m not ready to die yet either.”

There’s not a lot to do in the house. The cable’s turned off, but they’re able to get adequate reception on local channels. So far, there’s nothing on the news about them or about the dead state patrol officer who is currently in the trunk of their stolen car.

“We’ll leave when it’s dark, Stiles, so if you want a shower or some sleep, get it now,” Peter says. “I’m not sure when the homeowners will be coming back and I know neither of us wants to run into them.”

 

Stiles is in the shower, steam filling the bathroom and soapy hand around his cock when Peter opens the door and steps in. He pushes Stiles against the bathroom wall, knocking a quiet “umph” out of him along with a chuckle.

“I can do that,” he growls in Stiles’ neck, replacing the boy’s hand with his own and kissing him roughly. “I really hope there’s lube in the bedroom.”

There isn’t but with hands and mouths, with sweat and spit, they make things work, and still have time to nap before it’s time to go again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the road trip and a special guest appearance from a Beacon Hills deputy.

A few hours later, Stiles packs up the jeep getting them ready to hit the road again. As he promised, the jeep runs, even though Peter looks skeptical at all the duct tape holding the dash board together.

“Okay, back to the plan, heading south. I think we may end up in Mexico, is that a problem for you?” Peter asks, glancing at the boy next to him.

Stiles just shrugs. “Not like I’ve got better plans. No passport, but that’s a worry for another day I guess.”

“We don’t need a passport to enter Mexico. Or if we’re arrested,” Peter responds. “And if we want to leave, money smooths over a lot of things.” After getting on the freeway, Peter pulls out the cell phone they took from the Brennan’s. “I’m going to call Derek and see if he knows anything.”

Stiles shrugs and fiddles with the radio, trying to find a news station.

“Hi, Derek, it’s Peter.”

“Peter! Hey, I’m glad you called. How are you, where’ve you been?” Derek says and it’s loud enough that Stiles can hear him.

“Well, he knows,” Peter states, hanging up. The phone rings and he punches buttons at random until it stops and hands the phone to Stiles. “Here, call your father and see if you can learn anything.”

Stiles takes the phone and Peter listens to his heart beat racing while he dials a number. “Dad? It’s me.”

“Stiles?” The Sheriff’s voice is loud in the small car, when he says,“Thank god you called, are you okay? Son, where are you?”

The smell of anxiety is overwhelming in the car as he whispers,“I’m okay, Daddy.”

“Stiles... what they’re saying, I know it isn’t true, is it? The police said there was a couple killed in their home, I know you wouldn’t do that by yourself. Come home and we can figure something out, but you can’t keep running. Please son, please come...”

Peter takes the phone out of his hand and disconnects the call, then crushes it and throws it out the window. He rests his hand on the back of the crying boy’s neck and continues driving south.

 

After a few miles Stiles sits up and silently looks out the window. He gets Peter a bottle of water when asked, but doesn’t offer any conversation. His scent turns from miserable to exhausted and Peter considers that a small win; rest is something they both need.

 

“Where are we?” Stiles asks after several hours of driving. They’ve eaten from the coolers and stopped only once for gas and to use the bathrooms.

“Outside of Bakersfield,” Peter says. “What do you think about spending the night in Santa Barbara? Should be pretty and we can get a meal and a nice motel.”

“Sure! Do you think we can do that, would it be safe?”

Peter shrugs. “Safe enough, I think. We’re pretty far away from the scene of our latest escapades. And I’d like to get some sleep, my eyes are starting to burn.”

Stiles grins at him and raises an eyebrow. “Sleep? Maybe eventually.” He leans over and kisses Peter’s jaw and whispers, “Thanks for letting me stay with you, Peter.”

He doesn’t quite have the sugary smell Peter likes so much, but it’s close and Peter decides any risk will be worth it. “Thank you for staying,” he says.

 

They’re just coming up to their turn off and Stiles is talking about the fun he used to have with his friend, Scott who was turned by a werewolf. Peter’s not terribly interested in this dead boy and crazed wolves, but at least Stiles is talking. He’s got the little glass fox out of the box, and sitting on the dashboard of the jeep while eating the last of the cookies they bought from the gift store a million miles away.

“Hmm, this is different,” Peter says quietly, looking in the rear view mirror.

“What’s up, boss?” Stiles asks, gently petting the little fox’s head with one finger.

“Check your mirror,” he answers gesturing to his mirror with his chin.

Stiles flips down his visor and when he doesn’t find a mirror, he checks the one on his side door, instantly all business. “How long has he been there?”

Peter checks and the state patrol car is still behind them, keeping about a hundred yards back. “For a couple of miles,” Peter answers. “Oh, dear,” he says, when a second car pulls up next to the first patrol car, blocking both lanes.

Peter speeds up, mostly to see what will happen, and the two cars behind him both speed up, keeping the same distance between them. Stiles turns and silently checks on them, pulling his backpack onto his lap, and packing the crystal fox back in its box.

Peter keeps driving and they go up a small rise. When they get to the top they see the road ahead of them is blocked by four more patrol cars. He pulls the wheel sharply and they end up by the side of the road, next to a steep drop off.

“Well, this wasn’t in my plan,” the wolf says. “I wanted a steak and wine for dinner tonight.

Stiles shakes his head and answers, “No, me either. For the end, I was holding out for driving off the cliff together.”

Peter sighs and looks from the cars behind them to the ones in front. In front of them, the officers are out of their cars, taking shelter behind the cars, guns drawn and pointed towards them.

“GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW,” comes from a loudspeaker someplace behind them.

“So, Stiles...if we can’t do a Thelma and Louise, how do you feel about Bonnie and Clyde?”

He pulls the two guns out of his backpack and hands the gun he took from the patrol officer to Peter. “I’ll go front and you go back?”

“Count of three,” Peter confirms with a nod.

 

It’s unclear whose bullet hit the gas tank, or whose bullet created the spark that caused the explosion. And it probably doesn’t matter.

 

“Damn,” Deputy Parrish says, looking at the smoldering jeep. “I was hoping I’d be able to give the Sheriff some good news.”

“Sorry,” Officer Sedwick says. “I guess they found what looks like another dumping ground with a body back up north.”

“Yeah. And based on the DNA from the last house, I have to go back with this and tell him they were partners in every sense of the word. He was hoping that Stiles was kidnapped or something.” He shakes his head and looks at the ground around the car. “Do you think that was hot enough to completely burn bodies? How hot does a fire need to be to do that?”

“I don’t know, the CI guys will confirm it. Why are you asking, there’s no way they got out of this.”

“No, I know that,” Parrish says as he climbs down the embankment next to the car.

“I know the younger guy was your friend’s kid, but you got to admit, they deserved what they got,” Sedgwick says, watching Parrish study the ground next to the road. “You heard about that couple they killed and stole their car?”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m not saying they didn’t deserve it, it’s just...” Parrish kneels down and pokes at the ground with a pen he’s pulled out of his pocket. “There’s blood here, more than a few drops.”

Sedgwick sighs heavily and carefully climbs down next to Parrish, bending over to look where he’s pointing. “Yeah. We can have the tech guys look at it and type it. Probably from the explosion, they mighta gone everywhere.”

“Guess so,” Parrish says and walks a few more feet away from the road before he stops again. “This here looks like... melted rubber maybe? Like a shoe? Got some more blood on it. And next to it is some kind of animal print?”

“There’s animals out here, they might have come out smelling the blood,” the other officer says, looking back towards the car.

Parrish shakes his head and looks at the ground again. “Here’s another print. You’d think they’d move away from the fire and the smell, not towards it.”

They both stop when they hear a howl somewhere in the field where they’re looking.

“I didn’t think there were any wolves this far south,” Parrish says.

“Not that I know of, not sure what that was.” Sedgwick turns to go back to the road. “Telling you, it was lucky that other family wasn’t home when they broke in to steal the jeep.”

Parrish nods and looks out in the field for another minute before he turns and starts to follow the other officer back to the road. “Yeah, we also got lucky that a neighbor reported someone taking the jeep when the house was supposed to be empty another week.”

“I think good police work _is_ luck half of the time,” Sedgwick says, using some brush by the side of the road to help pull himself up. He leans over and offers a hand to Parrish.

Both men stop and listen to the howl in the field below them, answered by another howl a little further away.

Sedgwick looks out and shudders. “God, that’s creepy. Let’s get back to the station, there’s tons of paperwork.”

Parrish nods and says, “Yeah, the sooner this one is done, the happier we’ll all be.”

 

They get into their separate cars and drive away as the wolves continue to howl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I'm glad this one is done! Thanks for reading and leaving comments and kudos.
> 
> My thought is a neighbor went to check on the Brennans the morning after Peter and Stiles left and that's how they were chased so soon. For the empty house, another neighbor saw the jeep drive away, knew that no one should be home and reported it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [Tumblr](http://rebakitt3n.tumblr.com/)


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